


Water Keeper, Hedge Daughter

by orphan_account



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, far away and long ago, there was a Lady in the water, and a queen across the land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Keeper, Hedge Daughter

Once, far away and long ago, there was a Lady in the water, and a queen across the land. 

There was also a warlock, and a boy king, a poison table and tragedy, but those are stories told to exhaustion. 

But it suited such women as Ladies and queens to linger in shadow. 

("Doesn't it drive you mad?" Morgan asks. 

Nimue looks at her carefully. "I'm sorry. Does what drive me mad?"

"I don't know," Morgan snaps, frustrated. "Magic. Arthur. Power. Merlin. All of it." 

The lake is still and quiet, and if you stare hard enough, you might think you could see other worlds shimmering through it. 

"Yes," Nimue says. "I suppose it does. When you say it like that.")

In the time of Camelot, both the Lady and the queen had the misfortune of being gloriously powerful. The Lady had the double misfortune of falling in love with a warlock. 

("He's wicked," Morgan seethed. "Wicked and cruel and manipulative. I do not understand-"

"I will not listen to this," Nimue says. Her face is as clear and cool as always, but she sounds tired. "Do not insult Merlin by me. You know I am the more powerful of us two, I do not understand why you continue to test me." 

Morgan was a bold woman, and a powerful one, but she was not foolish. There was silence for a while. The lake was sunlit and beautiful, almost as much so as the two women by the banks. 

"You have not known him as I have," Nimue says. "All you have of him are lies and anger and greed and bad magic. But that is not how he is to me. I love him, and will always love him, no matter what may come between us."

"And us, Nimue?" Morgan asks, her voice sour. "What is it we have between you and I?"

The resulting silence softens her expression. 

"You must understand, though," Morgan says, a moment later, "given the chance, I'll kill him."

"You will never kill him," Nimue says. 

"What makes you so sure?"

Nimue smiles hollowly. "Because I will be the one to kill him," she says. "He told me himself."

Morgan looks at her, confused then pitying, and then lays a gentle hand over Nimue's white one. 

Even if you know fate will not be kind to you, it does not soften the blow.)

It was believed that the queen loved no one, that her heart was like ice and darkness and fury. But that was not true. 

("I don't know why you didn't drown the little brat to begin with," Morgan says. "It would have been easy enough." 

It's raining, and so the women take shelter under trees and under enchantment. Elsewhere, love is being made, only it isn't love, it is treachery and betrayal, and all of Camelot is bleeding. 

Nimue isn't crying.

"I could not have done it," she says. "He is my son. Merlin entrusted him to me so I would protect him."

Morgan snorts. "Oh, Merlin, well then," she says. "But he is not yours by blood. And you knew all along what would become of him. What he would do."

"He is mine by love," Nimue says. "And he is all I have left."

A raindrop wriggles its way through the tree branches and falls towards Morgan. It slides away from her in the air and lands with a harmless plop in the grass. 

"I would have killed him," Morgan says. "If I had been you."

"No," Nimue says, certain but sad, "you wouldn't have." 

Morgan makes another derisive sound. "You think yourself so wise-" 

"You had not the resolve to kill your own son," Nimue says. "You could not have killed mine in my place."

Morgan gives her a dark look. 

"Lancelot is flawed," Nimue says, "fatally so. But he has a good heart. Your Mordred is evil, nothing more or less, and you've known it ever since he twitched in your womb. Yet you let him lay untouched in his cradle, let him sit unsuspected at the king's table."

Morgan turns her face away from Nimue, her long fair hair hiding her expression, knees held under silken skirts hugged to her chest. 

"Lancelot was fated to lay with the king's wife," Nimue says softly. "Mordred was fated to plant a sword through the king's head. Who is more at fault for Camelot's fall?" 

Morgan looks up again; her face is carefully cold. "While you fostered Lancelot," she says, "forgive me. Mordred was born with my wicked blood in his veins, my icy heart in his chest. It is his inheritance."

Nimue smiles ruefully and touches Morgan's shoulder. "You do not have a wicked heart," she says. "Mordred is his own man. But you know that love does not become women like us."

Morgan blinks at her, then throws back her lovely head and laughs and laughs until hot tears begin to spill down her cheeks. 

Nimue turns away from her. She does not cry, but the rain does not stop. 

Later, the queen's son would find the Lady's naked, next to his lover in the king's bed, and raise his sword.)

The queen and the Lady were remarkably similar. They were both very beautiful, both mothers, both widely feared, and both exceptionally powerful. 

("I must admit," Nimue says, "in all my years I have never seen magic so strong in one not fey-born." 

"Thank you," Morgan says graciously.)

They also had the king in common, but then, so did everyone. They differed in their approach to loving him. 

(The doors to Morgan's throne room fly open, and Nimue sweeps in, her eyes like fire. The guards barely have time to rush at her before they vanish. She doesn't even look in their direction. 

Morgan shoots to her feet. "You've killed-"  
"Not killed," Nimue says. Her voice is low and dangerous. "Sent elsewhere."

Then she's holding Morgan up against the wall, her cold white hands around Morgan's neck. Morgan sputters and struggles, her feet kicking from their height a few inches above the ground, but it is more than strength that holds her in place; Nimue's power is almost tangible, filling the room with the smell of something burning. Morgan's crown falls and clatters to the floor. 

"You sent those assassins after Arthur," Nimue hisses, shaking her. "You made an attempt on his life, not the crown. It was sloppy and careless, and you-"

"Oh, calm yourself," Morgan snaps, but her voice is raspy. "I knew you would save him, you always do. It was just a warning, to scare him off the throne." 

"I didn't save him!" Nimue shouts. "I was in the Fey Isle. I didn't save him."

Morgan's face drains of color. "You don't-" Her body goes slack. "No-"

Nimue releases her, but Morgan is still held back, strained against the wall, her feet hanging above the floor like a hung corpse. Nimue shakes her head. "Sir Gawain," she says. "He slew them. And my Lancelot told me of the business once I returned. But the king is safe for now."

Morgan's breathing evens. "And people think me the wicked one," she mutters. "For shame, Nimue."

Nimue sighs, and Morgan's feet touch the ground again. "I know what it is you are trying to do, Morgan," she says, "but it is a waste. There is no force that can change Arthur's fate."

Morgan straightens, wary now and angry. "You say that," she says, "but you have never tried to avert the course of his destiny. Perhaps if details are altered- if he leaves the throne, then-"

"It is no use," Nimue says calmly. "However benevolent or malevolent, any designs on Arthur's power will not succeed. There is no stopping fate. All we can do is aid Arthur's quest, and make his life a prosperous one."

"You've never even tried!" Morgan shouts at her. "You've never even tried to save him! You're the strongest of us all, and you hide in your lake and watch while Arthur suffers and is betrayed and walks blindly into his own death like a child, when you could easily save him from his pain! Do you even love him, like you claim to, or is he just an amusement for you, a game like it-"

"You question me?" Nimue screams, and suddenly the air is alive again, crackling and full of emotion, a feeling deep and old and sad as the sea. "Do you honestly believe I have never lifted a finger against fate? That I have not struggled every moment in this world, as time and time again those most precious to me are torn away and forced to suffer, forced into roles made for them by destiny? My king, betrayed by my son- I never wanted that, never, I tried so hard to save them both- but it could not be done. And Merlin, my beloved, my adored, destined to die at my hand- I did everything to stop it, everything, I would have died and I wanted to, if it meant he could live, but I-"

She looks up at Morgan, her eyes shining and raw. "Every moment I have spent fighting fate," she says. "And watched every man I have ever loved fall victim to it. I have learned, Morgan, that there is no defeating destiny. It is better to accept that, and spare yourself the pain."

Morgan is still, then walks slowly to Nimue, her steps loud in the silence of the hall. She takes Nimue's hands in her own, and brings them to her lips, kissing each gently. 

"I'm sorry," she says. "Truly. I ought to have known."

Nimue watches her expressionlessly. 

Morgan lowers their connected hands, and smiles ruefully at her. "You are so much older than I," she says. "I am still young and passionate, and have much to learn." 

Nimue gives a nod. She does not release Morgan's hands in hers. 

"Well," Morgan says quietly. "It seems you and I are all we have left now."

They kept each other, but that was all they were allowed to keep.)

The Lady and the queen faded into legend, as all of Camelot did, after the death of Arthur. Even in the stories, they vanished into obscurity, with uncertainty as to where they went after the king was murdered. 

But in the end, there was peace, even for the water's keeper and the hedge's daughter. 

(Morgan comes to the lake on the last day, and waits and waits for hours.

Elsewhere, men are dying horrible bloody deaths, brother killing brother, greatness slaughtered like farm animals. Women and children weep, everywhere, like a disease, but not Morgan. She stands by the lake and waits for Nimue.

At last, a little boat appears in the center of the water. It sits in the water for a moment, then floats slowly to where Morgan waits. 

Nimue stands at the front of the boat, impossibly beautiful as always, but something has changed in her. A great sword is held in her white hand, and Morgan recognizes it immediately to be Excalibur. 

"It is time to go," Nimue says. 

"What has happened?" Morgan demands. "I have been waiting for you all this time."

"The table is broken," Nimue says. "Almost all of them slaughtered. Those who will live through this night I can count on one hand. Come, Morgan. It is time to go." 

"Mordred?" Morgan asks, quietly.

"Dead," Nimue says flatly. "The king slew him. No one mourns him."

Morgan swallows, nodding. "Lancelot?"

Nimue sighs. She is older than she has ever been, but she looks younger than Morgan has ever seen her. "He lives," she says. "He will live to an old age. But he will never be great again, and I will never see him again."

Morgan searches her face, but there is no more pain there- only a sort of final serenity. "The king?"

"Dying," Nimue says. "And you and I too, Morgan. All of us. We must go."

"Are we- are we going to die?" Morgan says, because she was only ever a human, and she was still young and beautiful and not ready. 

"No," Nimue says. "There will be no death, not for us. Not yet. But we really must go, my sister. The time of knights and witches and faeries is over." And she holds out her other hand. 

Morgan takes it, and allows herself to be tugged into the boat. "Where are we going?"

"On Arthur's final journey," Nimue says. "To Avalon."

Morgan stills. "Avalon?" she says. "You and I and Arthur?" 

"Yes," Nimue says. 

"But I-" Morgan says. "I am not Arthur, and I am not you. I cannot go to Avalon, it is for-"

"Oh, Morgan," Nimue says, and she smiles, and oh, Morgan doesn't think she's ever seen her smile before, she's really paralyzingly beautiful, "oh, sweet queen, don't you understand? It's all over now. No more pain or betrayal or mistrust. There is no more Merlin; he is gone now. Lancelot has run and Guinevere will follow, Mordred is in hell, and my Galahad is with God. No more evil, not for us and not for Arthur. Now the three of us can be together, with nothing between us, because there is nothing left."

Morgan stares at her, at her face all alight with the joy at their lives ending, and laughter begins to bubble up in her, because she knows in her heart that Nimue speaks the truth, has always spoken the truth.  
There is no more reason for her to fret or weep or scream- all there is left is the journey with Arthur, her brother, her beloved king. She presses a kiss to Nimue's cheek.

"Lead me forth, my faithful companion," the queen says to the Lady, and the boat begins to float away until it is nothing but mist on the cover of a lake.)

**Author's Note:**

> One of my many, many stories of Camelot, but I wanted to create a relationship between the two most shadowy women in the Arthurian legend, who I always believed might be more or less similar than most tales make them out to be.


End file.
